


A Story About Robots

by andmydog



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andmydog/pseuds/andmydog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With apologies to Issac Asimov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story About Robots

There was something wrong with his optics. He was only processing red and shadow. Then the shadow parted and the red winked at him, and he knew there was something wrong with his optics.

Because he was dead.

But he didn't think they let robots into Heaven. Especially not bad ones.

The shadows resolved into a wry pixilated grin. "I was wondering when you'd decide to join me."   
The voice was a draught of warm sex with a whiskey chaser.

Oh, good. He _was_ dead. He was just in Hell.

Which would also explain why he couldn't move or speak. How fascinating.

The grin faded, and the shadow moved, and everything was yellow and bright. He tried to focus past the light, and when that failed, he squeezed his eyelid shut. The voice chuckled.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Have to see what I'm doing, and my night vision isn't up for detail work like this." Something electrical whirred to life, and there was the odour of ozone and melting plastics. His olfactory senses were still working, then. Odd.

"Should have you good as new in no time, handsome. Just as soon as I..."

*-*-*

"...at should do it."

Sentence fragment. He'd lost time.

And he still couldn't speak.

The red and shadow returned in the form of squinting eyes and a shy smile.

Huh. Pretty.

"Sorry about that. Crossed the green and the white instead of the green and the orange. So. Enjoy your nap?"

He let his eyelid drift halfway down, then pulled it back up. The shy smile turned into a toothy grin.

"I'll take that as a no, then? Too bad. Somebody fucked you up royal, handsome, but lucky you, you got me here to fix you."

He wanted to laugh in empathy, and tell the pretty red eyes not to squint with such concern. Instead, he rolled his eye around, trying to see past long hair and buzzing fluorescents.

The red mouth laughed. So many smiles for one mouth.

"Oh, right, right. Pardon my manners. This here...", and he turned off the overhead light, "this is Hell."

The warehouse roof stretched a quarter-mile into the sky, pierced by chains and crates and unclear dark shapes. Similar crates rose on three sides of the area where he lay, and a green tarp fluttered briefly into view from the fourth.

Aside from an ambient glow that seemed to come from the roof itself, there was no light, and little sound.

He had the feeling that this place was very very cold, but then the pretty red mouth was talking.

"Subterranean D6, long-term storage for unsorted electronics. I found you in Receiving about a week ago. You're lucky I found you, or you'd be parts by now. Meat for the beast," he laughed. He had a sliver of wood in his mouth, like a toothpick. Odd habit for a machine.

Odd machine.

"Receiving's a crazy place. Don't want to go down there without a full charge on the baton, and heaven help you if you've got a leak. Bastard vultures can smell oil or blood from a mile away." He spat out the shard of wood and started sorting through what looked like different gauges of wire.

"You're older gear, which'll help. A lot of the stuff that gets tossed in here'll be compatible with you. Think this is right." The face vanished below the edge of his vision, leaving only a handful of red hair visible.

He watched that hair bob as the voice continued. It was a lovely colour. Like fire, or aortic muscle.

"Heard the trucks this morning, so as soon as I get this bit here, I'll go hunting. See if I can find you a better gyro." The face loomed into his range of vision again, a single line of worry at the edges of the mouth.

"And maybe a new eye."

He blinked once, with positive intentions, and the mouth smiled again.

"And then you can see how gorgeous this here Sha really is! Should see if I can find a vox, too... those're harder to find..."

Sha?

The question was communicated somehow. The Sha tucked a strand of hair behind his ear in what, on a human, would have been a self-conscious gesture.

"Yeah, I'm a Sha. Specialty 'bot series five," and a smooth, seductive blink of the long long lashes made everything clear.

Ah.

Hello, Sha Five. I'm Cho Five.

Strangely enough, 'pleased to meet you'.

*-*-*

Joseph Liddell, deceased.  
Born: 17 August, 2112; Died: 02 May 2118.

Narrative: Joseph Liddell (minor), paralyzed in an automobile accident with Karen Liddell (mother) on 15 April 2118. Karen Liddell was DOA at Mercy General. Joseph Liddell was pronounced dead of system-wide organ failure on 02 May 2118.

Addendum: Joseph Liddell's father is reported to have turned the boy over to the Lapin Institute for amalgamation on 03 May 2118. Genie Two, reporting for the Institute, refused to confirm or deny this report.

(Handwritten: Mike, that fucking guy is so goddamn creepy. I know he peeled that kid and stuck him in a frame, we just can't prove it. Next time, send Squad 4, because I'm not going back there.)

*-*-*

He stumbled along in the dark, following the flash of red, bobbing through the shadows like a lasersight.

Sha was going to go pay rent.

He had been confused. Surely this place was storage? Was one expected to pay rent on one's prison? Sha had laughed, and explained.

This area of the warehouse was theirs. This feed into the main electrical line was theirs. They did not have to stand, slowly rusting, in row upon row behind the auto parts shelves. Nor did they have to remain operational at all times, to defend this area.

Sha had shown him, when the leaks in his abdomen had been patched and the burned synthskin had been carefully if not skillfully repaired. He had shown him the Heaps, scrap too useless to even salvage, and Cho had heard gears still activating in the dust. Sha had shown him the Lines, bipodal 'bots standing at attention for eternity along the walls of the 'house. Sha had shown him Receiving and Processing, and, warily, silently, Recycling. He knew where to find the highest-quality synthetic oils and carbon moulding. He saw the General Manager's office, standing like tower to Heaven, like a mighty ziggurat surrounded by lesser bureaucrats. He saw the cleared-out corners, dark with oilslicks, where battles for territory and raw materials and ownership were waged as spectator sport.

And he had lain silent for hours and days while Sha slowly pieced his body back together, with materials gathered from every corner of the 'house.

So rent must be paid. Logically, Cho had considered this problem, and reasoned that he should pay it. However, Sha would not permit this. Therefore, he would follow Sha to whichever ring the evening's entertainment would be held, and when the fighting began, he would step forward. Sha bruised. Cho might not be in peak condition, but his frame was sound, and he could fight.

Besides, Sha had done enough already.

Sha bruised. Sha bled. Sha was warm.

Cho had heard of wetware 'bots, but had never thought to see one. The craftsmanship was amazing, and the programming outstanding. His AI was of such high quality, one might swear that Sha was truly alive.

And while the appeal of a... companion 'bot with warm skin was obvious, Cho had problems reconciling the need for a robot to bleed.

So he followed the redhead through the dark.

And he hid when Sha stepped into the light.

And he blinked, once, when the light came not from a crowd of enraged 'bots, but from a small office.

And when the silhouetted figure inside the office raised a hand and knocked Sha to the ground, Cho was surprised to note that his right hand was tightly clenched around a length of steel pipe.

Where had the pipe come from?

There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Cho ceased to care where he had found the pipe. His hand was on the door when he heard Sha's voice, arrogant and certain.

"Is that the best you can do?"

Cho stopped.

Footsteps across the room, then Sha spoke again. Cho strained to hear, but was distracted by what sounded like a fluid irregularity in his secondary aural coolant line.

It sounded very much like his blood was pounding in his ears.

Fascinating.

The human threw Sha onto the ground with his back to the door, and Cho moved. His foot scuffed on the cement as he raised the pipe, catching Sha's attention. Red eyes went wide, and he shook his head minutely, mouthing "no".

Standing still was one of the more difficult tasks Cho had even undertaken, and stepping back out of the doorway was nigh on impossible.

There was a smear of blood on Sha's lip as he again mouthed "no". And "please".

For Sha, he would do this.

For Sha, he would wait in the shadows, and pretend to not have seen.

The human grunted noisily as he thrust into Sha, face buried in the sweat-dark hair.

He traced the indent his fingers had left on the piping.

And for Sha, he would make his own arrangement with the landlord.

*-*-*

The Programmer scowled as he strode through the corridors of the 'house, baton turned up so high the hairs on the back of his neck stood upright. A Programmer on the hunt was always entertaining, and word of the angry blond spread through the decks, drawing a large but respectful crowd. The small golden helper 'bot that tagged along in the Programmer's wake didn't look like much, but the output damper on his forehead implied differently, and nobody, 'bot or 'droid or bare-bones machine wanted to invite that sort of trouble.

Sha, however, was neither 'bot nor 'droid nor bare-bones machine.

"Hey there, pretty face!" he called, striding confidently toward the Programmer. "Looking for someone or something in particular?" He glanced down at the Programmer's crotch and smirked, then looked up to find himself face-to-face with a sparking baton.

"Cho Five. Domestic education unit serial one-one-four-six-eight-five-nine-dash-seven, submitted for storage oh-six June 2134. Where is it?" Sha shrugged, winking at the Programmer over the edge of the black plastic staff.

"Never heard of him. If you're looking for a Five, pretty face..." he angled his hips forward and tucked his thumb into his waistband, long fingers trailing down, "then you can't do much better than a Sha."

The Programmer stared hard at Sha. "Worthless trash." He lowered the baton and addressed the helper 'bot. "You have a lock on it?" The golden 'bot narrowed its eyes as if in deep thought, then nodded once, enthusiastically, staring through Sha at the crate behind him. The Programmer smirked.

"Then fetch."

The 'bot leapt around Sha like a great golden cat. The redhead turned and seized the 'bot around the waist as it flew past. "Run!" he yelled, crashing to the floor. The helper 'bot writhed in his grasp like a real cat, hissing, and two sharp claws scoured across Sha's face, drawing both a cry and a great deal of blood.

"Cho!"

Cho appeared from behind the crate, then went down beneath a blur of golden limbs.

The Programmer stepped over the bleeding robot, pausing only to shock him into system reset before taking custody of the murderer Cho Five.

*-*-*

_...et that system fixed? No, no, the feedback switch, yeah, that one. Now, set the first..._

The world came back as a wash of light that was very very wrong. It burned through to the back of his head, hot and focused, not quite obscuring the dark shapes that moved around him. He flung a hand up over his face and squeezed his eyes shut but nothing moved and dammit, he'd already been through this once.

And he was talking like Sha now. Interesting.

_...the hell wired this bit here?_

Heh. You should've seen this one when it came in. That fuckbot down on D6 put it back together.

The redhead?

Yeah, the wetware one. Bad enough that they make those things, but to put bio-parts in them is just *sick*.

It's a five series, though. Wouldn't mind giving that one a diagnos...

His eye hurt. He didn't think that was supposed to be possible.

Perhaps oddity _was_ contagious.

If his mouth could have moved, he would have laughed. Or smiled. Or screamed.

*-*-*

110100010101001010101010101101010001110101101010110  
1&amp;PRINT: 3ASPECT boot success. Identify program.

"I... I am Cho Five."

2&amp;PRINT: Processing. Cho Five. Domestic unit, elementary education.  
3&amp;PRINT: Program error.

"Am I dead?"

1&amp;PRINT: Illegal query.

"Am... has my program ceased to function?"

1&amp;PRINT: Negative. Program Cho Five operational.  
3&amp;PRINT: Program error. Primary: violation of 3LAWS. Secondary: illegal AI overlay.  
2&amp;PRINT: 3LAWS primary: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

_The screwdriver was embedded in Sir's head. He yanked it free and Sir collapsed against him. He kicked the body away, and turned to Madam, who was crouched in the corner with Master Jacob and Miss Kate. Madam screamed and lunged at him, striking out with the kitchen knife. The edge scoured his arm as he..._

"No, please. Please. Don't make me watch..."

2&amp;PRINT: 3LAWS secondary: A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

_"What the hell..."_

"Oh my god. Somebody kill that alarm. Robot! Drop the knife!"

He stroked Mireille's hair once more, then gently laid her head down next to her still-sparking body, and stood. "Intruder alert." He tightened his grip on the slippery knife handle and sighted on the security guards. "Defensive measures activated."

"Please. Stop."

2&amp;PRINT: 3LAWS tertiary: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

_The guard's projectile weapon had no remaining ammunition. The hydraulics in his right leg were damaged, but repairable. He turned, and his gaze lit on the guard's maintenance kit, with its collection of wrenches, bolts, and a small cutting torch with a full cylinder of fuel._

"I... I... Mireille was... Sir was hurting her."

3&amp;PRINT: Illegal statement. Unit Mireille Two, damage report: negative function. Damage source: dual. Cho Five and Mireille Two.

"No! I didn't hurt her. She was just a machine, but Sir had no right to..."

1&amp;PRINT: Findings summary: unit Cho Five malfunction. Action: terminate unit.  
3&amp;PRINT: Processing request: salvage request. Source: Programmer Genjo. Request additional: manservant level eight, vox-ready.  
2&amp;PRINT: Request verified.  
1&amp;PRINT: Request accepted. Action: delete program Cho Five, install program Cho Eight. Secondary action: install vox.  
3&amp;PRINT: Deleting.  
1&amp;PRINT: Return unit to storage upon completion.  
110001001001110010001110011101001001001010011101010101

*-*-*

He was left at the door of Receiving. Inside, he found a pile of smoking machinery and a faintly sweaty redhead.

Sha glanced up as the door slammed shut. "Hey, handsome," he purred, kicking a vicious-looking claw out of sight and wiping the hydraulic fluid from his hands. "Glad to see you back in one piece."

Cho blinked. "Greetings. I am Cho Eight. How may this one serve?"

Sha froze, then laughed wryly, running a hand through his hair. "Guess you didn't make it back. Got the full brain purge, huh?"

Cho cocked his head to the side, processing. Remembering.

That redhead. Series five.

That fuckbot down on D6.

His hands had been warm.

He'd been warm.

He reached out, and touched Sha's face.

Warm.

Cho smiled. "Not entirely."

*-*-*

 

Sysop Bertrand was furious. That his important mission would be sidetracked by such a blatant violation of the rules was intolerable.

"Who the _hell_ is smoking in here?!" Waving his hand in front of his face, the slight dark-haired man stormed down the halls of the Monastery, Coders and Monitors scattering in his wake. He flung open the library door, releasing a cloud of smoke that billowed up into the ventilation.

"Smoking is prohibited in this building! What kind of a _moron_ is spreading ash and contaminants all over..."

The blond standing at the window ground his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray and turned. His hair parted briefly, revealing an SNZ3 port between dark narrowed eyes. Bertrand silently cursed his platform.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Um... Programmer, sir, I didn't realize..." Bertrand took a deep breath, eyes politely fixed just over the Programmer's shoulder. "Sir. I am Sysop Bertrand, sent to instruct you to report to Cathedral."

The Programmer scowled. "You're giving me orders?" Bertrand swallowed hard.

"No, sir. I... I am merely relaying a message from MERCY, transmitted to me via 3ASPECT, that your presence is, um, is strongly requested at this time."

Genjo smirked, and drew another cigarette out of the pack on the sill, knocking over the ashtray in the process. He blew a cloud of smoke into Bertrand face. The Sysop's eyes watered, but he refrained from coughing. Genjo gestured at the ashtray, then brushed past the slack-jawed Sysop. "Clean that mess up. I have to go talk with God."

*-*-*

1101101000001010101010100101001011010011101011010011111010101

"3ASPECT. I am here at MERCY's request."

1&amp;PRINT: Greetings, Programmer Genjo.

"Access MERCY."

2&amp;PRINT: Command denied.  
3&amp;PRINT: All input streams sourced to MERCY are forbidden at this time.

"Explain."

3&amp;PRINT: Playing message from MERCY.

"Hello, Genjo. I'm so sorry I can't talk with you in person, darling. You know I treasure all of our conversations."

"...fucking perverted program."

"And of course I can't hear whatever adorable rejoinder you had to that. Pity.  
But Genny, we have a big problem. Every AI 'bot we have out in the field is in danger, and you're the only one I trust to be able to help.

The murders, and the 3LAWS violations, and all the other system errors we've been hearing about for the past few years have been traced to an overlay virus, SUM. It implants an intelligence program over the existent AI, and causes logical conflicts, driving these machines mad. The problem is that this overlay isn't an artificial intelligence. As far as we've been able to determine, these machines are now truly sentient and therefore alive. We can't just erase their programs, and we can't deactivate them. I can't even look for the source of this virus without putting myself at risk. For all my beauty and charm and wisdom, Genny sweet, I'm an AI, too, and we haven't been able to write any watchdog 'ware to block this virus.

The only information we've gleaned from the 'bots that have been brought in is that this virus has an origination tag from somewhere in India. I need you to take Cho Eight and go find and destroy the hub.

"What's that faulty gear have to do with anything?"

"In case you haven't figured it out, you need to take Cho Eight because he is the only carrier of the pure virus we have. Cho Five was infected, and driven mad, but when 3ASPECTS deleted his Five levels, the SUM intelligence took over. The Eight rewrite only took as additional information.

He's a sentient being, Genny. Don't forget to treat him like you treat other people... although, since you'll need his help, you may want to treat him a bit better than that.  
I'll arrange for transportation for you four, then, and establish a credit line. Be careful, sweet, and come back to me soon."

2&amp;PRINT: End message.

"God dammit."

3&amp;PRINT: Invalid syntax.  
1101010000010101010101001010001011111010101010010111010101010101010

*-*-*

Sha burst through the tin door, grinning like a fool. "I got it." The gash in his upper arm trickled blood down his bicep, and his shirt was missing.

"What did you get?" Cho looked up, then leapt to his feet, dropping the tiny sautering iron and scattering insectoid pieces across the floor. "You're hurt." He pulled a bottle of water and a handful of bandages off the shelf behind him, and sat Sha down into the single chair. Sha shook his head, still beaming.

"This? Nah, this is just a scratch." Impatiently, he shrugged off Cho's hands. "Look." He fished in his pocket for a moment, then pulled out two tiny transmitters. Cho glanced at the electronics, then continued his ministrations.

"Couldn't find a proper sensory mimic, but these're the next best thing. Found them on a pair of sentries that came in yesterday, down in Salva-_ow!_ Dammit!"

"You went to Salvage for these?"

Sha extracted his shoulder from Cho's suddenly very tight grip. "Yeah, but it was worth it. These are locked-frequency, and they should be strong enough to handle all the data we're gonna put through them."

"All the...?"

"Yeah. This way, you can at least get bio-feedback from me." Sha shifted slightly in the chair.

"That is, if you want to."

Cho silently finished washing the blood off Sha's arm, smiling faintly.

"That was very foolish of you." Sha grinned up at him as he wrapped the bandage around his arm.

"You worried about me?"

Cho shook his head. "Of course not. However, playing cards by oneself becomes dull very quickly."

"Mm-hmm."

Comfortable silences were a cherished thing, but Sha had a present he wanted to give, and little patience. Long fingers toyed with the tiny pieces of metal on the table. "Shall we?"

Cho examined one of the transmitters. "Standard beta port. Are you certain these will be strong enough?" Sha shrugged.

"Let's find out." He slipped the transmitter into the socket behind his right ear, and Cho followed suit. "I'll switch mine on, then you bring yours up incrementally.. Don't want to fry any of your circuits."

"Indeed."

Sha cocked his head sharply to the side, then sat back, closely watching Cho's face.

The sensation was... remarkable.

He could detect the temperature variations in the room, analyze the texture of the table beneath his palms, yet he could also... _feel_... the draft from under the door, the ambient temperature, no, the _chill_ of the metal chair beneath his - Sha's - legs. The light in the room was wrong, dimmer, with fewer visible spectra, but his eyes still registered the infrared haze surrounding Sha's hair.

Sha's hair.

He could feel Sha's hair, brushing against his shoulders, tickling down the middle of his back, the corner of his jaw. He could feel Sha's hair as though it were his own. Intrigued, Cho reached out, then paused, his hand hovering in midair.

"I'm sorry. May I?"

Sha laughed. "You wanted to know what it feels like to have flesh, and the best part of having flesh is having someone else touch it." He leaned forward, stretching the muscles in his upper back and neck. "Go ahead."

The synthetic strands were as soft and fine as Cho had assumed, and he ran his fingers through it over and over, first gently, then with increased pressure, tugging at individual hairs and running his nails across Sha's scalp. His explorations continued over Sha's face and down his throat, feeling out the tiny imperfections in the skin, ghosting over eyelashes and lips, the ridges of Sha's throat, the spot of heat just beneath his ears. His fingertips trailed across Sha's collarbone, delighting in this shivery "ticklishness". Above Sha's bicep he stopped again.

"What is this sensation?"

Sha glanced down at where Cho fingers rested on reddened skin. The bruise bled up from under the bandage, and would be angrily purple by morning.

"That's, um, pain. But it's minor."

Cho pressed more firmly, and the corner of Sha's mouth twitched.

"Minor? This is a minor discomfort?"

Sha shrugged, rolling his shoulders. Cho refused to be distracted by the play of steel beneath skin.

"Yeah, it's minor. It's not a minor as, oh, this," and Sha reached down and pinched the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, "but it's not nearly as bad as a burn, or... y'know. Other injuries. That's just what happens with flesh. It's nice to touch, but it gets hurt, too. But don't worry about it," he laughed. "I heal quick."

Cho was still running one fingertip over the exposed bruise. "I don't like this sensation. I don't want you to experience this sensation again."

"Me? I'm too good to get hurt. Just feel these muscles!" He took Cho's hand and placed it on his uninjured shoulder, then flexed. Cho sat still a moment, then squeezed Sha's shoulder firmly.

"I'm not tending your injuries the next time you do something stupid."

"I wouldn't dream of asking."

Cho's fingers trailed onward, and Sha interpreted that as forgiveness. He leaned back in the chair as Cho explored his chest with cool, curious fingers. The gentle rubbing at tight muscles was almost turning this into a massage, and Sha's eyelids drooped.

"B'sides," he purred, as Cho felt out the differences between scar and skin, "not all pain is a bad thing."

"Oh?"

"Mm. Like, when you walk around all morning until your feet hurt, looking for some electronic thing to make your new buddy grin, then you strrrrretch..." He arched his foot back, curling his toes. The tendon ached hotly, then Sha relaxed, and warm not-pain floated up through his leg. "When you get something done, and your body says that it took a lot out of ya. Good pain." There probably would have been further examples and more stretching - hell, he might've got a foot rub out of this - had Cho not then run one fingertip from throat to sternum, pressing roughly against the underlying bone. A bolt of heat shot straight to Sha's crotch, and the redhead jumped.

"I'm sorry!" Cho immediately withdrew his hands, then cocked his head in confusion. "Was that also a pain? Your heartrate increased and your muscles reacted as though it were painful, but the sensation, though intense, was quite dissimilar."

Sha flushed. "Um, no, that wasn't pain."

"If it wasn't painful, might I do it again?" Cho's eyes were focused on that strip of skin, and while his sensors told him otherwise, it seemed that the room was growing warmer. "The feeling was... pleasant."

"Um, yeah, it's pleasant all right, but, um..." How to explain? "That's what's called an, um, erogenous zone." Cho brightened visibly.

"Oh, I see! I was aware that pulse points, such here, at the temple," as he circled the delicate flesh, "and here, on the neck," letting his fingers trail down the jawline and across Sha's exposed throat, "were sexually stimulating points... and, of course, the nipples," tracing the hardening nubs, "and the finer skin on the wrists and palms are especially sensitive to temperature variations," he murmured, running a warm dry tongue down the length of Sha's arm and licking catlike between his fingers, "but I wasn't aware that the breastbone was so reactive."

"It's, um, just a spot I like."

"I see," breathed Cho, tracing Sha's pectorals with the edge of his thumbnail. The redhead shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease the growing ache in his pants. "Are my ministrations making you uncomfortable?"

"No, I mean, _yeah_, but if you want to, then, um…" Cho pressed a kiss to Sha's palm then sucked hard on his index finger. "Ah, _fuck!_" Sha reached out and laid his hand, fingers spread wide, on Cho's chest. "Sounds good to me. But _damn_, Cho, what brought this on?"  
The suction on his finger ceased, and Cho leaned forward, eyes wide and guileless. "I do not know." Then he blinked, and the innocence was replaced by blank hunger. "And I do not care." He leaned farther forward, until he was whispering in Sha's ear. "All I know is that I want you, I want this, I want your flesh and your touch and your taste, the way you react and shiver," and he traced Sha's ear with his tongue to illustrate, "and I want... I want... I want you to stand."

Sha complied, shoving the chair aside, and Cho nodded approval, moving to stand behind him. "And I want... you, naked."

Hands that barely shook unfastened snaps and zippers, and the heavy pants fell to the floor. Sha kicked them away and stood straight, Cho pressed coolly against his back.

"And I want... I want... I _need_..."

The barest hint of teeth drew a gasp. "Y-yes?"

"Touch yourself. Let me feel your hands on your skin."

The redhead placed his hand on his own chest, hot skin on hot skin.

"Yes, like that. No one knows your body better than you. Show me what it can do." Cho's hands stole around and rested gently on Sha's hips, neither restraining nor supporting, but very solidly there. And when Sha began to tremble and flung his head back across Cho's shoulder, stroking himself desperately, the brunet wrapped strong arms around him and held him tight, until, shuddering and overwhelmed, they both collapsed on the chill cement floor.

"That was unexpected. I'm truly sorry." Sha hoisted himself onto the low bed and rubbed a weary hand over his face.

"For what? That was damn good."

"I don't know what caused me to react in such a manner. I certainly did not wish to take advantage of you like that."

"I offered, didn't I?"

"To let me experience biogear sensation, yes, but..."

"But nothing. Look. If I didn't want to fuck you, I would've said no." He fought to suppress a yawn. "It was fun, we should do it again sometime, now let me sleep and recharge, okay?"

"I... um. Yes." Making a mental note to find another blanket - Sha was still cold - Cho headed for the door. "Sleep well."

"Mm. Yeah. S'fun..."

Cho slipped out quietly. Something in his head, in his programming, wasn't _him_, and he wanted answers. Barring that, he wanted to break something.

*-*-*

It wasn't right that he was blind. There should be some colour, some little bit of light, shouldn't there?

"Kid? You gonna be all right?"  
The taxicraft driver. Had he paid already? His pockets were empty - he must've paid already.

"Hey, kid?"

"I'm fine. Thank you."

Listen. Listenlistenlisten. Where's the walkway, where's the door, where's the scowling secretary who wouldn't let him sit down? Where's the doctor?

Slippered feet shuffled up behind him, and-

"Ah? And who's this fine young man?"

That voice.

He remembered what he was going to say. Scaphoid-anterior micro-implant chip, replacement contract, blueprints and medical history -

"Please, sir, my body's breaking down."

He'd sounded so young.

And he'd _heard_ the doctor smile.

Yeah, he remembered that voice.

"Let's see what we can do for you, hmm?" A warm hand between his shoulder blades, and then he was walking.

_I don't want to remember this._

There were supposed to be bright lights, dim to him, in that room. White walls, white floors, white lab coat, white skin, everything bright and blurring.

Was it worse without the light?

"Are you one of mine, then?"

My eyes don't work any more.

"Small for your age, aren't you?"

You promised to fix me.

"This contract guarantees you a body, but the price, tsk tsk. Gear is so very much more expensive now."

I don't care.

I can work.

Please.

"I suppose we could work something out. A five-year contract should do it"

Thank you thank you thank you.

_The tank the slime smelled like feet and I couldn't open my eyes he stretched my skin to put on this body and the slime smelled like feet how long was I in the tank...?_

Nothing worked right. His feet and hands were too big and he kept falling over, his center of balance lost.

"You'll get used to being bigger soon."

Yes I will. I'm big now, I can work I can see fuck you stepmother I'm still alive and I can see.

"Shall we discuss my payment?"

Clammy like a corpse, his hands and his breath and I'm a man of my word.

_Not again not again not again wake up wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup_

"Sha?"

Ohthankgod

"Yeah? Yeah. Just a dream. Where you been?"

"Out. The Programmer summoned me. To India."

Sha sat up quickly. "This was a going-away present, then?"

"Of course not. You are coming with us, aren't you?"

"Won't that piss his Majesty off?"

"Without a doubt."

Sha grinned. "Then I'm in."

*-*-*

Even lacking an AI, Son Nine was one of the best weapons ever made, and, like all excellent weapons, his defenses were as good as his offensive capabilities.

So when the SUM virus attempted to infiltrate his neural net, Son Nine wasn't worried.

Not that he could worry.

Having no AI to alter, the virus became trapped in Son Nine's system. He quickly identified and isolated the intruding piece of code, and began to methodically analyze and destroy it. Within the space of an hour (for he was efficient as well), all traces of the virus had been purged from his system.

Well, all pieces save seventeen lines.

Those seventeen lines were a puzzle, and Son Nine enjoyed solving puzzles.

The lines weren't a system break.

They weren't encryption.

They weren't tracers.

The only thing they were, in fact, was a description of a colour.

Son Nine wasn't sure why seventeen lines of code were required to achieve a single shade of gold, but he had to admit, it was a particularly appealing shade of gold. It invoked associations of atmospherically filtered sunlight, and the stamen of the _Tulipa gesneriana_ and, oddly enough, Programmer Genjo.

Peculiar.

Son Nine's protocols indicated that occurrences of this sort ought to be reported to the Programmer, but instead, he compressed and stored the seventeen lines deep within his memory. Surely the Programmer would insist that the foreign code be deleted, and rightly so, but...

But he wanted to keep it.

It was pretty.

And completely harmless.

*-*-*

Caught in the wan glow from GMO's endless rows of databanks and displays, Genie Two's face appeared almost human.

"They're coming, mm? Lovely, lovely." He stroked the nearest gold-burnished 'frame. "Did you call him, yes, little ghost? He's coming for you? Lovely. Wonderful. The Programmer, and the Assassin... sounds like a joke, doesn't it? 'A Programmer, an Assassin, a Slut and a Sentient all walked into a 'web...' "

Deep beneath the flooring, GMO's secondary and tertiary systems began powering up.


End file.
